*
In the end, the election was nail-bitingly close.
In September, Cam had been ecstatically confident that Richard Nixon would win. He was far ahead in the polls. The police riot in Democratic Chicago, fresh in the minds of television viewers, tainted his opponent, Hubert Humphrey. Then, through September and October, Cam learned that voters’ memories were maddeningly short. To Cam’s horror, Humphrey began to close the gap. On the Friday before the election, the Harris poll had Nixon ahead 40–37; on Monday, Gallup said Nixon 42–40; on election day, Harris put Humphrey ahead ‘by a nose’.
On election night, Nixon checked into a suite in the Waldorf Towers in New York. Cam and other key volunteers gathered in a more modest room with a TV and a refrigerator full of beer. Cam looked around the room and wondered excitedly how many of them would get jobs in the White House if Nixon won tonight.
Cam had got to know a plain, serious girl called Stephanie Maple, and he was hoping she might go to bed with him, either to celebrate Nixon’s victory or for consolation in defeat.
At half past eleven they saw long-time Nixon press aide Herb Klein speaking from the cavernous press room several floors below them. ‘We still think we can win by three to five million, but it looks closer to three million at this point.’ Cam caught Stephanie’s eye and raised his eyebrows. They knew Herb was bullshitting. By midnight Humphrey was ahead, in the votes already counted, by 600,000. Then, at ten minutes past midnight, came news that deflated Cam’s hopes: CBS reported that Humphrey had won New York – not by a whisker, but by half a million votes.
All eyes turned to California, where voting went on for three more hours after the polls closed in the east. But California went to Nixon, and it all came down to Illinois.
No one could predict the Illinois result. Mayor Daley’s Democratic Party machine always cheated brazenly. But had Daley’s power been diminished by the sight of his police bludgeoning kids on live television? Was his support of Humphrey even reliable? Humphrey had uttered the mildest of veiled criticism of Daley, saying: ‘Chicago last August was filled with pain’, but bullies were thin-skinned, and there were rumours that Daley was so disgruntled that his backing for Humphrey was half-hearted.
Whatever the reason, in the end Daley did not deliver Illinois for Humphrey.
When the TV announced that Nixon had taken the state by 140,000 votes, the Nixon volunteers erupted with joy. It was over, and they had won.
They congratulated one another for a while, then the party broke up and they headed for their rooms, to get a few hours’ sleep before Nixon’s victory speech in the morning. Cam said quietly to Stephanie: ‘How about one more drink? I have a bottle in my room.’
‘Oh, gosh, no, thanks,’ she said. ‘I’m beat.’
He hid his disappointment. ‘Maybe another time.’
‘Sure.’
On his way to his room Cam ran into John Ehrlichman. ‘Congratulations, sir!’
‘And to you, too, Cam.’
‘Thank you.’
‘When do you graduate?’
‘June.’
‘Come and see me then. I might be able to offer you a job.’
It was what Cam dreamed of. ‘Thank you!’
He entered his room in high spirits, despite Stephanie’s refusal. He set his alarm and fell on the bed, exhausted but triumphant. Nixon had won. The decadent, liberal sixties were coming to an end. From now on people would have to work for what they wanted, not demand it by going on demonstrations. America was once again going to become strong, disciplined, conservative, and rich. There would be a new regime in Washington.
And Cam would be part of it.
Part Seven
TAPE
1972–1974
46
Jacky Jakes cooked fried chicken, sweet potatoes, collard greens and cornbread. ‘To heck with my diet,’ said Maria Summers, and tucked in. She loved this kind of food. She noticed that George ate sparingly, a little chicken and some greens, no bread. He had always had refined tastes.
It was Sunday. Maria visited the Jakes house almost as if she were family. It had started four years ago, after Maria helped George get his job at Fawcett Renshaw. That Thanksgiving, he had invited Maria to his mother’s house for the traditional turkey dinner, in an attempt to cheer them up after all their hopes had crashed in Nixon’s election victory. Maria had been missing her own family, so far away in Chicago, and had been grateful. She loved Jacky’s combination of warmth and feistiness, and Jacky had seemed to take to her, too. Since then Maria had visited every couple of months.
After dinner they sat in the parlour. When George was out of the room, Jacky said: ‘Something’s eating you, child. What’s on your mind?’
Maria sighed. Jacky was perceptive. ‘I’ve got a hard decision to make,’ Maria said.
‘Romance, or work?’
‘Work. You know, at first it seemed President Nixon wouldn’t be as bad as we all feared. He’s done more for black people than anyone ever expected.’ She ticked off items on her fingers. ‘One: he forced the construction unions to accept more blacks in their industry. The unions fought him hard on that but he held out. Two: he helped minority businesses. In three years, minorities’ share of government contracts has gone from eight million dollars to two hundred and forty-two million dollars. Three: he desegregated our schools. We had the laws in place already, but Nixon enforced them. By the time Nixon’s first term ends, the proportion of children in all-black schools in the South will be below ten per cent, down from sixty-eight per cent.’
‘Okay, I’m convinced. What’s the problem?’
‘The administration also does things that are just plain wrong – I mean criminal. The President acts as if the law doesn’t apply to him!’
‘Believe me, honey, all criminals think that.’
‘But we public servants are supposed to be discreet. Silence is part of our code. We don’t rat on the politicians, even when we disagree with what they’re doing.’
‘Hmm. Two moral principles in conflict. Your duty to your boss contradicts your duty to your country.’
‘I could just resign. I’d probably earn more outside the government anyway. But Nixon and his people would just carry on, like Mafia hoodlums. And I don’t want to work in the private sector. I want to make America a better society, especially for blacks. I’ve dedicated my life to that. Why should I give it up just because Nixon’s a crook?’
‘Plenty of government people talk to the press. I read stories all the time about what “sources” are telling reporters.’
‘We’re so shocked because Nixon and Agnew got elected by promising law and order. The blatant hypocrisy of it all makes us kind of furious.’
‘So, you have to decide whether to “leak” to the media.’
‘I guess that’s what I’m thinking.’
‘If you do,’ said Jacky anxiously, ‘please be careful.’
Maria and George went with Jacky to the evening service at Bethel Evangelical Church, then George drove Maria home. He still had the old dark-blue Mercedes convertible he had bought when he first came to Washington. ‘Just about every part of this car has been replaced,’ he said. ‘Cost me a fortune.’
‘Then it’s a good thing you’re earning a fortune at Fawcett Renshaw.’
‘I do okay.’
Maria realized she was holding her shoulders so rigidly that her back hurt. She tried to relax her muscles. ‘George, I have something serious to talk about.’
‘All right.’
She hesitated. Now or never. ‘In the past month, in the Justice Department, anti-trust investigations into three separate corporations have been cancelled on the direct orders of the White House.’
‘Any reason?’
‘None given. But all three were major donors to Nixon’s campaign in 1968, and are expected to finance his re-election campaign this year.’
‘But that’s straightforward perverting the course of justice! It’s a crime.’
‘Exactly.’
‘I knew Nixon was a liar, but I didn’t think he was an actual crook.’
‘It’s hard to believe, I know.’
‘Why are you telling me?’
‘I want to give the story to the press.’
‘Wow, Maria, that’s kind of dangerous.’
‘I’m prepared to take the risk. But I’m going to be very, very careful.’
‘Good.’
‘Do you know any reporters?’
‘Of course. There’s Lee Montgomery, for a start.’
Maria smiled. ‘I dated him a few times.’
‘I know – I fixed you up.’
‘But that means he knows of the connection between you and me. If you leaked a story to him, and he was wondering who was the source, I’d be the first person he’d think of.’
‘You’re right, bad idea. How about Jasper Murray?’
‘Head of the Washington bureau of This Day? He’d be ideal. How do you know him?’
‘I met him years ago, when he was a student journalist, pestering Verena for an interview with Martin Luther King. Then, six months ago, he approached me at a press conference given by one of my clients. Turns out he was at that motel in Memphis, talking to Verena, when they both saw Dr King shot. He asked me what had become of her. I had to tell him I had no idea. I think he was kind of taken with her.’
‘Most men are.’
‘Including me.’
‘Will you go see Murray?’ Maria was tense, fearing that George would refuse, saying he did not want to get involved. ‘Will you tell him what I’ve told you?’
‘So I would be, like, your cut-out. There would be no direct connection between you and Jasper.’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s like a James Bond movie.’
‘But will you do it?’ She held her breath.
He grinned. ‘Absolutely,’ he said.